About a Boy
by QueenCate
Summary: [ONESHOT] Petunia reflects back on Harry's life and the changes she has witnessed in her nephew and comes to the realization that maybe she doesn't hate him as much as she thought.


_Summer after first year_

Vernon tensed beside her as the boy said a few last words to the two that had appeared through the wall with him – Disappearing walls? Absurd! – and walked towards them.

"So, you're back then?" Vernon asked with a sneer before stalking off to the car, not waiting for a reply. The others hurriedly followed, the boy bringing up the rear as he struggled with his trunk. Petunia almost took pity on him, but as she looked at him, she was forcibly reminded, as so many times before, of her good-for-nothing sister's worthless husband. She had met the man on one occasion, when Lily had invited him to dinner, and he had left a decidedly bad impression. He was just as she imagined _their kind_, talking about things like Quid something or other and ghosts and other such nonsense. Then her eyes flickered to the owl cage in his hand and the unnatural creature inside staring back at her and that settled it. She let him struggle until they reached the car.

The ride home had been silent. As soon as the front door swung shut behind them, Vernon relieved the boy of his trunk, only to lock it in the cupboard under the stairs. She eyed the boy shrewdly. His lips were barely moving, but she heard a soft, constant sound emanating from them and he was fingering something in his pocket. Dudley whimpered softly and Petunia smacked him across the face.

"I will have none of that in my house."

The boy stared at her with pure hatred and anger his eyes glistening with tears the welled up in response to the sting of her slap, but he blinked them back, refusing to show weakness. It was slightly unnerving. Vernon caught on to what had happened and barked at the boy, confiscating his wand to be locked in with the other nonsense and condemning him to spend the rest of the week in his room. Petunia was proud of her husband. There could be no taking chances when it came to dealing with these people.

-x-

_Summer after second year_

Vernon merely grunted as once again the boy bid his freak friends good-bye and joined them. She had overheard him saying something to the girl, a bushy haired child, about him almost dying and she felt a small swoop in the pit of her stomach. Despair, she told herself, that he hadn't managed to do so. Unlike the year before, the boy no longer struggled with his trunk and owl cage, but rather followed them easily. Once again, the ride home was quiet and as soon as they were safely inside Number Four, Privet Drive, away from prying eyes and ears, the boy's books and wands were closed up inside the cupboard and he was sent to his room. This time, however, the boy did not go quietly, but rather stayed put and argued with Vernon about letting his owl loose, swearing not to send any letters to any of _his_ kind. As the boy argued, his vivid emerald-colored eyes shone with anger, recalling memories of her sister. Angrily, Petunia pursed her lips and forced thoughts of her sister out of her mind. Vernon relented, due in large part, Petunia suspected, to the racket that blasted bird had made last summer. Finally, the boy turned and retreated to his room. Petunia watched him go with oddly proud sort of amazement. The boy was growing into a man and she felt a surge of pride. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized this and she bustled into the kitchen to prepare lunch and to take her mind off the boy, for thinking about him or his mother never did Petunia any good.

-x-

_Summer after third year_

Petunia surveyed the dumpy, red-haired woman standing a short distance away with her eyes casually watching the wall that the boy had come through the previous year. She was one of that kind, Petunia decided, her nose wrinkling with distaste. A moment later, the boy and his friends emerged from the seemingly solid barrier. The woman hugged the boy tightly and Petunia saw Vernon's face flush a deep red as their shared suspicions about the woman were confirmed. The boy approached them confidently, looking back only answer the red-haired boy call about some World Cup.

"What's that?" Vernon asked roughly, eyeing the open envelope gripped tightly in the boy's hand. "If it's another form for me to sign, you've got another­ –" Vernon started to warn, but the boy cut him off.

"It's not," he assured them with a smile that made Petunia wary. Her sister used to wear that smile when something good had happened to her and she got to gloat about it. "It's from my godfather."

Vernon, who had turned several shades darker when the boy cut him off, flushed a deeper purple. "Godfather? You haven't got a godfather!"

The boy still wore that smug grin as he answered, "Yes, I have. He was my mum and dad's best friend. He's s convicted murderer, but he's broken out of wizard prison and he's on the run. He likes to keep in touch with me, though…keep up with my news…check if I'm happy." With that, the boy stepped around the three of them and confidently led the way out of the station.

Vernon glanced at Petunia with a look of stunned horror. She frowned deeply. She knew about the godfather, of course. That man, Dumbledore (how she remembered the name, she never knew), had written about him in the letter, but only in passing. As she followed her husband and son out of the station, she fought to regain her composure. The boy had reminded her so greatly of her sister, more so than ever before, that it had unsettled her, as did his newfound confidence. Oh, no, she did not like this one bit.

As expected, Vernon tried to lock the boy's things in the cupboard upon their arrival home, but the boy casually waved the letter still clutched in his hand. Vernon's eyes had widened in fear and he had allowed the boy to take his things up to his room. Those haunting green eyes flashed upon her for a second and that was all it took for the pleasure and smugness shining in them to register, just as it had when her sister won the battle for the biggest room when they had moved as children, before that freak school sent that letter. Before Petunia became the wallflower while her sister became the family gem. On her eleventh birthday, Petunia had waited anxiously, in hopes that an owl would flutter through the window she had made sure open and drop her Hogwarts acceptance letter into her lap. But the owl never came. It was then that Petunia decided that magic was weird and unnatural and that anything – or anyone – related to it was a freakish. It was then that Petunia began to resent and eventually hate her sister, and by affiliation, the boy.

-x-

_Summer after fourth year_

The boy emerged from the barrier solemn faced, as did his friends, unlike the previous years when they appeared laughing heartily and joking around with each other. The boy seemed to have matured years in a matter of months and despite her best efforts, Petunia felt a small pang of pity for the boy. He followed behind them this time and climbed slowly into the car, where he proceeded to lean heavily against the car door and stare unseeingly out the fogged up window. Petunia glanced back every few minutes, curious as to what had brought about this sudden change in the boy, and a few times swore she saw tears brimming in his dulled eyes. It wasn't until weeks later, when Dudley mentioned the boy had been yelling in his sleep, that Petunia began to connect the dots. It took the boy dragging home a sickly Dudley and explanation that Lord Voldemort, the man who had killed her sister, was back. She was unable to stop the torrent of emotions that came flooding into her at that declaration, but she did a good job of hiding it. Or at least she thought she did until the boy had given her an odd, almost understanding look. A short influx of owls and a smoking letter (Howler, the boy had called it) later, Petunia had regained her composure enough to tell Vernon that the boy had to stay. That letter had made it clear that the boy had to stay at her house for at least a few weeks every summer until he came of age, or he would not live long. She may have hated and resented her sister, but she wasn't going to let the boy die. So she ignored Vernon's desperate looks and sent the boy to his room before retiring to her own without a word to either her husband or son.

-x-

_Summer after fifth year_

The boy looked even more downcast this year, if that was possible and far thinner and paler. Petunia wondered why she cared. Something had changed in her last summer. She felt it. He was no longer just the boy. He was Harry, her sister's son and Petunia's nephew. But she mustn't show that. Vernon would be beyond angry with her. So she went about her daily business, but rather than antagonize the boy, she let him alone. Then that man showed up. Dumbledore. Petunia had always wondered about him, the mysterious man who had penned the letter left on the doorstep along with the boy. He had come to take Harry away and had, in the process, informed Petunia of why the boy had been so upset these past weeks. His godfather had died. Again, Petunia felt that unbidden pang of sympathy for the boy and chose to ignore it, instead focusing on the man's next sentence, claiming that the boy would come of age the following summer. She quickly pointed out that he was wrong, only to be proven wrong herself. Why couldn't these people do anything normally? And then he was gone. Oddly enough, Petunia was sad that he was gone. Perhaps, now that she had come to hate her sister less, Petunia had grown to like having a reminder of her around. Whatever it was, she missed the boy for the first time and it felt strange, almost good. Like love.

-x-

_Summer after sixth year_

The sun had barely stretched over the rooftops of Privet Drive when Petunia Dursley pounded on a bedroom door and screamed for her nephew to wake. She heard a mumbled, and no doubt snide, comment and walked off, satisfied that the good-for-nothing boy was up. The boy had been in a particularly foul mood ever since he disembarked from his train and Petunia had yet to figure out why. With a brief shake of her head, she set about her morning routine, frying eggs and bacon for her husband and son, both of whom were big, healthy boys, unlike the boy, all the while straining her ears to hear the fight between the next door neighbor's daughter and her worthless boyfriend. Tsk, tsk. Some people had no courtesy for other people. As if the neighborhood wanted to hear about their troubles. Dudley found his way into the kitchen, despite the fact that his eyes were still heavy with sleep, his nose upturned slightly, as if he was following the scent of the bacon. Vernon followed close behind, his ruddy complexion less flushed, as the boy had yet to make an appearance. With an angry sigh, Petunia set the plates of bacon and eggs on the table before her boys and stalked back up the stairs.

"Boy," she called, pounding on the door once again. "Harry?" she asked, softer this time. She turned the doorknob gently and pushed the door open. The boy was lying in the middle of the floor, dripping sweat all over her carpet. She was just about to ask what the devil he was doing when he began doing push-ups. Since when did he work out? Petunia cleared her throat and shut the door behind her. Harry looked up, startled, and fell back to the floor.

"Oh, hi," he greeted her dully.

"What the devil are you doing?" Petunia asked sharply, perching on the edge of his unmade bed. Her fingers itched to neaten it, but she resisted the urge. That wasn't why she was here. Instead she beckoned him to sit on the bed with her.

Harry warily seated himself at the desk, instead, staring at her curiously. "Working out," he told her, at loss for a sarcastic comeback. "Why?"

Petunia ignored the question, choosing to ask one of her own instead. "You're going to have to fight him, aren't you?"

Harry nodded, not having to ask who 'him' was. "Yeah, looks that way. That's why I'm working out, to get in shape," he added unnecessarily, still uncertain of what was going on, but getting a better idea.

Petunia studied him for a minute. "Be careful,' she said finally. "We both know what he can do. Your parents were good people. Your mother was, anyway, and I know she wouldn't marry a loser. So try to get him, for Lily." She didn't know where those words came from, but she knew they were true. She didn't hate her sister, or that Potter boy she married. She just resented them because that had something she could never have. They were special. And so was their son, the boy – no, man – standing before her. And she had to trust that he would do what was right.

Harry looked stunned, but he mutely nodded his head, seeming to understand.

Petunia got to her feet and just as she was about to leave the room, turned back to say, "Don't mention this to your Uncle Vernon."

Again, Harry simply nodded, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Two weeks later, the day after his seventeenth birthday, he was gone. Petunia wasn't sure he would live for her to see him again, and for the first time, she actually cared. So this was love. She wasn't quite sure she liked it, but there she had a feeling it was there to stay.


End file.
